Mercy, Love, and Other Useless Things
by Dinochickennugget
Summary: "He was happier thinking you were dead." A continuation immediately after the second movie. Pre-slash *active contest! See chapter five for details*
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, places, situations, etc. are the intellectual property of Marvel, unless otherwise noted. I do not work for Marvel studios in any way, nor am I benefiting monetarily from this work in any way.

A/N- While doing background research, I found conflicting answers to minute details. In these circumstances, I used Marvel Cinematic Universe Wiki for clarity.

Light footprints in the outside hall. Steady breathing in time with the soft mechanical beeps. Sharp, sterile air buzzing with tension.

The door opened. It was not an uncommon occurrence here, with doctors and other visitors entering and exiting regularly. But this time, even with closed eyes, it just felt different. The unknown person brought in almost an aura of energy, of adrenaline.

"Psst!" The person entering began to speak in a familiar, steady, slightly low voice. But familiarity alone was not enough to be relaxing. "Psst, Steve, you up?"

Eyes sliding open slowly, Steve first saw huge blue orbs surrounded by a curtain of thick red hair, both of which were burning bright in the harsh lighting. "Hey, Nat." He smiled gently, meeting her eyes. "What's going on?"

"I'm getting to that, promise. I just need to make sure you're ready. How do you feel?"

"A little hypothermia is nothing new." Shrugging, he gestured to the IV tube depositing a steady drip of warmed saline into a vein in one hand. "So whatever you've got, I'm ready."

"Okay." Natasha sighs, eyes closed, and perched gently on the foot of the narrow hospital bed. "If you're sure... Just keep in mind, no one is certain yet. Not of anything. I don't want to get your hopes up, but I also don't want to scare you. keep that in mind."

They watched each other for a moment, a silent understanding passing between them, a mutual understanding that her words were atypical. Natasha was not the type to nurture. Not without extreme need to do so, anyway.

"A few hours after you were stabilized, a call came in," she began. "The EMS team found someone about two miles or so from the river you were taken from. Varying levels of consciousnes, responded nonsensically to questions. Not much concern, because of blood loss from other injuries. But it still seemed fairly routine. Anyway, here's where you get dragged in. They asked for name, no response. They asked for birthdate, it seemed normal. March tenth, nothing unusual in that, right? But the year-"

"No." Steve bolted straight up, the hot fluids and dense swaddle of blankets doing nothing to dull the icy prickle growing from the base of his spine. "Don't say it. Please, Nat, it can't be-"

"1917." She nodded slightly. "March tenth, 1917. They wouldn't let me in to confirm, I'm not considered close enough. So when you're up for it, trauma bay two, whenever you-"

The commotion from the unknown new arrival could be heard long before Steve came close enough to see in through the slight cracks between shades on glass wall. It was impossible to see the patient's face through the crowd of blue-scrubbed doctors. But they were already recognizable enough. Tight black pants clung to every curve in the long, muscle-toned legs. A bare chest and abdomen, just as delicately toned, was obscured with heavy bruises and scrapes. From the desperate, almost animal movements of the lower body, it seemed as if the patient were partially restrained. Their shouting was garbled, unintelligible. But it didn't matter. That voice...

The noise continued, escalating, overwhelming. Steve debated entering, but somehow, couldn't. He was frozen in place, only able to watch the scene unfold as the doctors continued their attempts of control. "Can I get 50 propfonol?"

"So, is it-?" Natasha ran up from behind, her sentence cut short by a scream from inside, then silence. Whatever was injected brought swift unconsciousness.

Steve felt his jaw tighten as he stared ahead, not able to fix a gaze on any point in particular, choosing instead to allow his eyes to hover above the window frame. "It is..." The words left in a hushed monotone. "It is."


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

The doctors inside continued their swarm, checking countless monitors, taking vial after vial of blood, running simultaneous tests and imaging exams.

"There's a lot of free fluid here in the hypogastric region," one called out. "Abdomen is becoming increasingly distended, most likely an open bleed."

"Okay, book an OR, get those two contacts in for consultation. See if we can get a conclusive ID."

Once again, the door swung open. Outside, Natasha stood alone, glaring, apparently struggling to hold back her temper. "Don't," she growled. "Don't approach him for this case, not now, not ever. I'll confirm your identification, if that's what it takes. Your patient is indeed James Barnes, born March 10, 1917. So just work on maybe keeping him alive, or not, I don't care at this point. Whatever you do, whatever happens, Steve stays out of it."

She turned, appearing to be intending to walk away. At the last second, she sidestepped, darted into the room. Her reflexes were too quick to be held back once she lunged towards Bucky's bedside. "You!" she hissed. "Coming back, after all this time, all you let them do to you? How could you be so stupid?!" Involuntary tears stung her eyes as she squeezed them shut. "Do you have any idea what you did to us? And Steve- Oh my god, Steve- He was happier thinking you were dead."

Eyes still squeezed tight, she did not notice the sudden, subtle changes in Bucky's face. His chapped, blood-caked lips parted to allow the escape of a hushed moan. Breathing was painful. His eyes slid open, barely wide enough to reveal the slightest hint of icy gray. "I know you," he managed to mumble in tense Russian.

She only answered out of instinct, not of interest. "You did, that is," she replied in the same language, smoother and more natural than her counterpart. She shrugged. "Ancient history by now."

They stared at each other a moment longer. Natasha pursed her lips. "I don't want to believe that you're gone. But I also can't accept what you've become. You're not the only one who has changed. But if there's any little bit that's still what you once were, show me. Give me a sign. Anything."

There were several more minutes they shared in silence. It was broken eventually not by speech, but by Bucky's drowning cough. More blood bubbled forward, spilling from the corners of his paling lips. "One thing," he begged. "Just, tell me- tell me one more thing. Who-"

"We have to go." The doctor Natasha had confronted earlier strode in, roughly clamped an oxygen mask to Bucky's face. The surgeon's well rehearsed assistants propped up the sides of the bed and began their run down the hallway.

"Wait, wait!" He screamed and thrashed, struggling as if to reach Natasha's hand. "Who is Steve?"

...

The post-surgical ward's waiting area was tucked away in an artifically soothing corner on the top floor. Clouds drifted lazily past the sealed, dusty window. The air hung heavy with the cloying stench of antiseptic. A large clock ticked away the seconds. With every mechanical click, Steve's uncertainty heightened.

An hour passed. That's normal, right? Two. Maybe something had gone wrong? No... Three.

Once again, the purple-scrubbed nurse emerged from behind the glass panel led hallway. She appeared identically each time, with loose brown hair framing a face that radiated informed serenity. Tigtly clustered red families comforting each other in hushed voices glanced up at her, hoping, expecting, waiting for the news. A quick scan of her clipboard would reveal the name. "Barnes family?"

Now or never. With only a momet's hesitation, Steve nodded and followed into the conjoining hallway.

"You're going to want to head in to cubicle eight, that's the second to last section on the right," she explained. "You are family, right?"

Finally, something he could respond to without much thought. Pure instinct. "Yes."

"Okay, good, just checking." She grinned. "Now, the sedatives we used can have some, let's just say, intense emotional effects. Don't hesitate to call for backup. Good luck."

The solitude in waiting was a refreshing change of pace. It had been too easy to slip away from Natasha at first. But by this point it was obvious that she was only living him alone on purpose. If that were the case, may as well enjoy the quiet while it lasted.

"I don't think you remember me," Steve whispered, standing a few feet away from the foot of the bed. "No, I know that you don't. If you did, you never would have done the things that- Forget that. There has to be something that you recognize, anything. We can start small, but I'm going to find it. I promise you. I'm not leaving you here alone. We'll start small, we'll get through this. First, you just need to wake up... I'm right here, there's nothing to be scared of anymore. Come on, wake up..."


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

"So, how's it looking in here?" Natasha had returned within the hour, torn between her residual anger and compassion for how pathetic Steve looked.

"Not so good." He sighed. "Blood pressure has been unstable. It starts out low, then spikes, drops again. It can't be stabilized. It's weird..."

"Oh." She nods, crosses to the opposite side of the bed. "And he hasn't woken up? Or said anything?"

"Nat..." Steve looked away. His hands wandered, coming to a hover only inches over Bucky's face. It was so tempting to touch, to feel the rough, warm skin he never had reason to approach. But there was something that held him back. The simple, quick motion remained impossible.

"Okay, sorry I asked, wrong time, I know." Her disposition became icy, almost jealous. "Just thought you may be interested in knowing that we spoke, right before the surgery. Interesting stuff, too. But if you just want to be all secretive-"

"Tell me, Nat." Steve's fingers tangled into Bucky's hair. "Because I'm going to get my friend back, one way or another, and I'm going to need your help to get there. Please."

She nodded. "Like I said, we spoke. Briefly. But he asked for you. By name, too. Well, more or less. So you should be here when he wakes up."

Without another word, Natasha strode out, leaving Steve caught in the riptide of emotion that was too overwhelming, too confusing.

"I guess I should be happy to see you, right? But I don't know, things have been weird, haven't they? I mean, first you died. Supposedly, you know? Then the same thing happened with me, and then we end up here. With you acting all- Well, not normal. So we don't know what happened there. But I'm sure we can find out, if you would just wake up."

The beeping quickened again. Numbers on the monitor flashed by. A quick jump, and the top number lept from 80 to 100, into the 120's, and continued it's steady incline. Diastolic wasn't far behind. 76, 78, 80...

the crease between Bucky's eyebrows deepened. Steve leaned forward, scrutinizing the change. Did this mean anything? It had to... Then again, it happened most times with these BP spikes.

"I know you're in there. Just a little bit more, come on. Just open those eyes. Please, come on, I've missed you."

Within moments, there was a soft moan. "It- really- something really hurts..."

"Yes, well-" Steve let out a sigh of relief that there was at least some consciousness. "I'm sorry. Do you remember anything that happened?" His hand reached out again, this time more instinctively, more certainly, to brush away the forming beads of sweat. "So you just need to breathe, and-"

"Don't touch me," Bucky growled. "Don't fucking touch me. I don't know you!"

Maintaining the touch hurt. Drawing away was impossible. "But you do," Steve insisted, pleading now. "You and me, we go way back. Decades now. You know me. You remember. You have to."

"You're lying." The monitor continued its squeal. The volume increased, the tinny repetitions becoming more and more frantic. "Get out, just get out of here!"

"No, wait, not yet, just listen, calm down, just listen, please, please!" The curtain whipped open again. Natasha strode in, confidently punched the white button on the IV cord. Within seconds, Bucky was slipping back into unconsciousness.

"Patient-controlled analgesia." She shrugged, as if it should have been obvious. "I was waiting for one of you to figure it out, but- Anyway, you need to leave. Because you're right, you need my help, and if you want me to explain, you'll come with me now. You're in overnight for observation, anyway. Ripping out your IV, wandering all over the place, stupid idea to begin with. So come on. Let's go unlock the secrets of this screwed up brain."

...

They laid awake together in silence. Steve, reconnected to the warm saline, kept to the edge of the natrow bed, facing the window, watching as the lights of the city flickered by. Natasha, struggling for the right words, stayed curled up inside the nearby armchair, muscles tightly coiled as if she was preparing to run at a moments notice.

"There was this neurotoxin, back in the lab where we met," she whispered. Her words were chosen carefully, slowly. "It was powerful. One drop, one tiny injection, and the receiving agent became incredibly powerful. It turned off instinct. Increased fear levels, altered the fight or flight reaction to be deadly, stripped the recipient of any guilt, or compassion, or anything they recognized as good. But it was always temporary. Twelve hours of effects, at the most."

"But if that's what you're saying he got, then why-"

"It became addictive." She squeezed her eyes shut. Half moon indentations appeared in the pale skin of her inner arm as her nails dug in, the momentary flash of pain forcing out the memories. "When you were under it, there was no mission you couldn't do. So it became a challenge, who could get the most of the stuff and survive. But the creator didn't know how much was too much, how much it took to be irreversible. So they needed a guinea pig, one who wouldn't fight back. And they had one who spent the majority of his life in a freezer, so, well, you can take it from there."

"There's a cure, isn't there? An antidote? Something?" Steve already knew the answer. Why would there be? The end result was exactly what was intended. There was no way that any research would have been put into reversing the effects.

"What are you willing to do, Steve?" Natasha lifted her head from her arms, faced the window as well. "Your friend is gone. There's no shame in just walking away now."

"Yeah, yeah there is." The events of the day, the fighting, the near drowning, the emotional turmoil, it was starting to catch up. His eyes shut heavily, sleep almost too near to form a coherent response. "Because I made a promise. So I'm here, right here, until the end of the line."


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

"Hey, its me again." Bucky had been moved into the intensive care unit overnight. Steve leaned against the glass door, peering in occasionaly. It hurt to see Bucky like this, pale and weak, conscious but staring blankly at the celing. "You don't have to talk. But maybe you can listen to me?"

There was no reaction, no change whatsoever. Just a broken blank stare, slightly parted lips, and the defeated, unchanging expression.

"Okay, then. I'm going to come in, if that's okay. Will that be okay? You can tell me if it's not."

There were several moments of frustrating silence before Steve stepped inside the glass cubicle. The area was small, yet brightly lit. More medical equipment lined the walls than either of them had ever seen in one place before. An IV bag, filled with donor blood, dangled nearby. It gave off an eerie ruby glow when as it swung gently into the fluorescent lighting.

"So, Natasha is going to find someone to help you. Does that sound good? We can get you back to normal. You want that, right?"

There was a slight change, a small hint that there was at least some recognition for the question being asked. "Okay, then, just listen. We will get you help. We will fix it all, and all you need to do it trust me."

Bucky blinked hard. His eyes settled on the blood bag and the drops of thick crimson liquid falling rhythmically through the tube. The sight was nauseating, yet somehow comforting in comparison to the stranger's insistence. "And why should I trust you?"

"Because you remember me," Steve insisted. "I swear to you, you know me, and as more than just a mission. And I think you know that. I mean, you recognized me?"

"I- I don't-" Bucky's eyes widened, terrified, almost childlike. "You can't tell anyone! I mean it, especially not-"

"You know, there was a time when you fought them." Steve nodded gently, trying to ease the fear. "We did it together. And if you have even the slightest memory of me, I'd say you never did stop fighting."

"Yeah, well-" Bucky cringed, obviously still in a lot of pain despite the heavy, voice-slurring drugs. ""If only I could remember what I should be fighting for. Would make this whole thing a hell of a lot easier."

"Well-" Steve struggled to think of what to say next to make it better. Nothing seemed to fit. "We can worry about that later. You need to rest. Maybe some sleep will make things clearer. Are you sleepy?"

Bucky shook his head hesitantly, cautiously peering up at Steve, as if afraid to say the wrong thing.

"You are allowed to talk. Whatever you want to say, whatever you need. I won't get mad, I won't leave. You can trust that. Can you trust me?" His hand reached out until it hovered mere inches over Bucky's bruised cheek. No oral protest came, and the flinch was less exaggerated now. It was some progress, at least.

The door opened. Grinning, Natasha rushed inside. "Guess what? I think I found the perfect person to help us."

"Nat, that's great!" Steve rushed over from where he knelt next to the bed. He embraced her, hiding the joyful tears behind her thick curtain of hair. "Thank you!"

"Hey, hey..." She pulled back, smiling reassuringly. "Don't worry about it. But don't get your hopes up. There are no guarantees about how well this will work."

Steve nodded. "And when do we start?"

"That's up to you two. You feel up for it?"

They both looked expectantly at Bucky. His confusion was obvious. "Um, I don't- You're asking me?"

"Yes." Natasha nodded, coming nearer, smiling in a way that almost seemed too sweet. "Yes, my dear. You can choose, now or later, there's no wrong answer."

"Natasha," Steve interjected. "He needs this as soon as possible. And he'd choose me as a medical proxy, I think we both know that. So if we can't trust that he's fully in the frame of mind to make major medical decisions-"

"Steve, please. It's not that big a deal whether we do this now or wait. The sense of independence is what we need to focus on restoring here. I think that between the two of us, I have a bit more information to go off of. And besides, I'm not all emotion." She pushed Steve away and knelt protectively by Bucky's bedside. "Tell me, baby. I know you're strong, you're willing to do whatever it takes to get better. The question is, is now an okay time? If you're sleepy, it can wait, but-"

"It's okay." His eyes wandered to focus on Steve's face. "Right?"

Steve smiled. "Perfect.

* * *

><p>Natasha returned minutes later followed by a tall, blonde woman in a lab coat. "Good morning, Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes, I'm Dr. Maura Walker." She strode over to shake hands with Steve, then offered the same to Bucky, who pulled back hesitantly. Her professional smile did not shift. "Okay, then. Let me explain what's going to happen here. I'm a toxicologist, and I tend to specialize in the neurobehavioral field. Basically, I study how different chemicals affect and alter tissues of the body, and how it ultimately comes back to modify the brain's basic chemistry and function." She smiled, as if these terms made sense to the others as well, and crossed over to the sink in the corner.<p>

"Natasha said you didn't know what exactly what you were given to start these symptoms," the doctor said casually as she scrubbed her hands. "Is that correct? And if so, can you tell me everything you remember about the substance?"

A line of sweat prickled above Bucky's eyebrows. "It was kinda pinkish, I think?" He nodded, squirming. "They injected it around here." He indicated a small, yellowish, aging bruise hovering directly above the pulse point in his throat. "And it burned, and-"

"Uh huh..." The doctor nodded and glanced up. "This doesn't sound like any sort of drug, legal or otherwise, that I'm familiar with. I might be able to analyze it's chemical makeup, so I'm going to have to take a blood sample for replication." She turned away from the counter, already clutching a tray filled with needles and vials.

"Uh, Steve," Natasha's eyes caught his from across the room. "This may not be so easy. Look."

Blood bubbled up from where Bucky bit hard into his lip. Sweat continued to glisten above his brow.

"It's okay, baby," Natasha whispered soothingly as she led Steve closer. "It's okay."

"Nat, how is this going to-"

"Shh." She stood on tiptoe and whispered into his ear. "This isn't going to be easy. You hold him down, I'll distract, let's just make it as quick and minimally dramatic as possible."

The doctor strode casually over. The needles glinted in the light, sending Bucky into a blind, animalistic panic. "No, no more research, no more experiments, please!" He stared at Natasha, begging, pleading, tearful and hyperventilating. "Natasha, Natasha, you said I was done, please! Please..."

"I know. I know, darling, I know."

"It only takes a moment, I promise." Dr. Walker promised. "If you stay very, very still, I can get this done in barely a minute, and you'll hardly feel anything at all. Just a small pinch, a little pressure, then it's all over."

"You can squeeze my hand, if you want," Steve offered. "Whatever you want, just breathe."

"Um..." Bucky looked down only to see the needle already in the vein, blood flowing down the tube and into the first vial.

"See, honey, almost finished, I told you, it's not that bad. Just two more vials and you're done." Dr. Walker smiled and turned back to her work.

"Get it out," Bucky pleaded, frozen, breatjing turning shallow. "Get it out, get it out!"

"Shh, shh..." Steve grabbed at the scarred wrist and shoulder, pushing down hard, trying desperately to keep Bucky's struggling form from damaging anything, or hurting himself further. "You have to stay still, stay quiet, please..."

"Steve, are you kidding me right now? Move out of the way, let me." Natasha grasped the same spots that Steve was struggling to keep still. "Baby, baby, look here, look at me, my dear," she purred softly in Russian. "Just you and me. Come here..." She bent down further, her hair falling gently over his cheek. "Come here." She closed her eyes, slowly offering a well practiced kiss, soft and soothing, vaguely familiar on his chapped lips.

"And we are done here." Dr. Walker slid gently out of the vein as Natasha pulled away. "That's all there is to it, not that bad, right?"

"N- no," Bucky stammered, staring at Natasha. "What now?"

"Now you sleep," Steve insisted. "I mean it this time, you're badly hurt, and need the rest."

Bucky blinked hard, confused. Had he said something wrong? Was it accepting Natasha's kindness? Was there something going on between the other two? "You're mad at me?"

Steve and Natasha snapped out of their whispered argument. "What? No, we're-"

"No one is mad at you, honey." Dr. Walker interrupted Natasha. "We're just worried about you. So how about we let you get some quiet now." She glanced firmly at the others, taking note of Steve's deep blush. "They'll be downstairs, and you can page if you need help. Now please, just rest, relax. I'll see you later, when I get some results." She smiled in goodbye and strode out the door. Natasha, eyes burning furiously and muttering to herself in a language not even Bucky understood, stomped out closely behind.

Steve froze in the doorframe.

"I'm sorry," Bucky called out. "If I made her mad, I mean."

"Oh, no, she was just being nice." Steve sighed. "I overreacted, got too protective. I'm just scared that you'll get hurt again."

A faint whirring sounded on the IV stand. As it had before at preset intervals, the concentration of medication running down the line got stronger. Bucky's dark, shadowy eyes felt heavy, the intense stabbing pains in his lower abdomen melted away. "I trust you," he whispered, fighting off sleep was taking too much effort away from better judgement. "Stay with me?"

Steve smiled. "Of course. I'll be right here when you wake up."


	5. Chapter Four

A/N- Thank you so much to everyone who has been subscribing, I have recently broke 700 views! I'd love to know what you're all thinking, so please feel free to leave a review, or even send me a PM. I promise, I'm not shy, and I won't take criticism personally. Seriously, if you hate it, just let me know (or, you know, positive comments if you've got those, too). As always, thank you for reading!

Oh, also, big note for this chapter: **Trigger warnings for blood, surgical descriptions, and general gore**. If this makes you uncomfortable but you wish to read anyway, you can scroll past through anything in italics.

Chapter Four

_"Alright, let's go ahead and start with a vertical incision for visibility. Left upper quadrant. Prepare for a lot of bleeding, prep an extra transfusion just in case."_

_No. Stop. Wait. Those repeated themselves in a silent chant. It was as if each muscle had been turned to lead, weighed down, paralyzed. Every effort of movement was greeted by stillness and accompanied by a sudden flash of increasing, blinding pain. No, stop, wait. No, stop... Wait!_

_"Ten-blade, please." The authoritative voice was answered with a metallic click and a long, steady exhale. "Alright, going in for the first incision."_

_Everything was suffocating. The pain, the fear, only the thick tube shoved deep inside the spamming throat, forcing breath to continue. It was all too much, too much!_

_There came a shredding, squishing sound, a vaguely metallic and familiar odor. Physical sensation came moments later. The warm bubbles of oozing, thick blood, the release of pressure. It quickly gave way to the tearing, the agonizing sensation of flesh and muscle torn apart, pinned aside, ripped violently away to expose pulsating organs._

_"Bleeder on the intestines," a new voice announced. "If we can get suction and a bovie over here-" And the shredding was met by a high-frequency mechanical scream, and the tearing joined by an all-consuming burn._

_"Let's get some more visibility in here. That liver is a wreck."_

_"But it can be saved. Keep cauterizing, push more antibiotics. That spleen, on the other hand..."_

_"Oh, it's coming out. But let's stabilize the intestines first._

_Ripping... The source of the bleeding was pulled aside. A deeper burn radiated the entire distance of the opened flesh. It was impossible to ignore, to think of anything else, to move, to scream..._

"Breathe, breathe, come on, wake up!" Rough hands clamped over the surgical field. Where was the blood? Shouldn't it be spilling over the new hands, staining, splashing...

"Come on, please, look at me. You're okay!"

Finally, the choking, suffocating respirator gave way. For a fleeting moment, the stranger's touch felt almost soothing, cool and strong against the electric burns. The last remnants of the nightmare faded away.

"Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes? It's just a dream. I know, it's scary, I get them, too."

Bucky gasped as he snapped fully awake. His eyes glazed over, bleary with tears and the sedatives. It took a moment to register what had happened. But it still didn't add up. Where was that ache coming from, if it were just a dream? He brushed a finger over the line of discomfort to find a row of hard, barb-like strips of metal.

"They had to restaple the incision," the familiar and constant observer explained. "The stitches pulled out during the blood work. Do you remember that?"

There were too many tests, needles, procedures, too many to keep track of. Almost. This last one was gentle compared to the rest. No chain like restraints, the needle wasn't unnecessarily oversized, and th nearby people were friendly, to say the least.

"So, anyway, you may be sore for a few days. You'll be here until everything looks better. Whatever you need, let me know. But for now, that doctor was right. Rest."

"I can't," Bucky insisted, panicked and desperate. "I shouldn't be telling you, I don't even know you. Why do you even care, anyway?"

Steve sighed. He paced the floor, struggling to find the appropriate words. "I don't know how to prove it, not really. But I know you, and over time you'll see. Take it one step at a time. Tell me what you remember. Something, anything, no matter how small it seems, no matter how silly, there has to be something. They didn't take it all, that I'm sure of."

Bucky nodded, not quite trusting, more weary. Innocently accepting. "But what if you're wrong?"

"Shh, hey, don't you worry about that." Steve smiled gently, pausing beside the door. "Because all I need to know is that you want to find that person you once were. Trust me, it's better than this."

* * *

><p>Hardly hours later, Dr. Walker was back, this time with more answers than questions. "I think we have sone good news," she started, trying to provide some reassurance.<p>

"You can fix it?" Steve stared, shocked and wide-eyed. "Just like that?"

"Well, not quite." Dr. Walker strode over to Bucky's side. "But we know more about what's happened."

The patient stared up towards the doctor, searchin for an ulterior motive. "Really?"

"Mm hmm. Here are the full results from the bloodwork, if you're interested." She flashed a smile in Natasha's direction, passing over a thick folder. "Basically, most of it came back normal, which is fantastic. No infection, and your kidney function was better than expected. Liver was by no means great, but it's much better than it was before the surgery."

Steve signed, relieved. "You see? You're doing well." He smiled,more aching out to squeeze Bucky's hand, remembering the new aversion to touch and pulling away only at the last moment.

"So, what does that mean?" Natasha joined the others, flipping lazily through the pages, glancing up at the doctor with a vaguely secretive, nearly flirtatious smile.

"No more surgery?" Bucky nearly begged, seeming to physically shrink from the others, instantly terrified. "Right?"

"Right, if you can keep your strength up, anyway. We are hopeful that you can make a complete recovery in a few weeks." She cleared her throat, giving the good news a chance to settle in. "What does concern me is your hormone levels. Cortisol is the hormone that accounts for stress, fear reactions, possibly violence, though that's not confirmed. And your counts were extremely elevated."

"But that can be fixed, right?" This time, it was impossible to refrain from the urge to reach out and grip Bucky's hand. There was no verbal protest, only a small flinch, but it was still an improvement over what has come before.

"We can." Dr. Walker nodded. "I'll persxribe an oral hormone inhibator, which should help take the edge off of any anxiety or depression. I'do also like to order a few imaginh tests, most likely a craniofacial ultrasound, to make sure that the structure of the brain is in order."

"And that isn't-"

"Nope, non-invasiv, promise. Immediete answers, no risks. I'm not going to force it, but know that it's strongly recommended. Your choice."

these words reverberated, confusing, tempting in a way that Bucky had learned to associate with punishment. "It's a what?"

"Well, uh, you know, you can say yes or no," Steve tried to explain. "No one else but you."

"Yeah, but all things considering, you should probably do it," Natasha said dryly looking up at the doctor. "So, the real question is, do you have any objections?"

Once again, someone had made a medical decision, and now only pretend to care about his objections. "Yeah, sure, whatever. Do whatever you want," Bucky said slowly, emotionlessly, blanky. "Scan my mind, or whatever."

"Okay," Dr. Walker said gently. "Let me go get the equipment. We can get this done within the hour. It really is a good decision on your part. I'm proud of you." She smiled, a well-worn, maternal smile. "So, if you have no further questions, I'll see you later?"

"Okay..." Growing more nervous, Bucky stared up at Steve, pleading. "Will you stay?"

"Yeah, sure thing. We both will. Right, Nat?"

"Thanks for the invite, but we're going to have to pass. I can tell when I'm not necessary, so thanks, but no thanks. There's something I need to do, anyway."

"Okay, but if you-"

"Let her go," Bucky whispered. "Please."

"Okay, okay, Nat, we'll see you later, right?"

"Yes, Ateve." She sighs. "You will see me at your apartment, where you will be coming to rest. You need to take care of yourself, too."

"Yeah, but-" He broke off, eyes casting over the bed.

"That's what I thought." Rolling her eyes, she stormed from the room,,slamming the door in her wake.

"She's, uh, always like this, it's nothig-"

"Yeah, I know."

Steve's eyes opened wide at this insistence. "You know?"

"There was- something. Something between us, I don't know the details, but this happened." With shaking hands, he pulled back the stiff sheets and pulled up the bottom of the paper gown. A thin, lumpy pink scar crossed between the very bottom of each hip. In some spots, it appeared nearly nonexistent, giving off the illusion that the cut had stopped and started several times. "We did something, I don't remember exactly, but we almost got away with it, for a few weeks, anyway. But then, they found out. And they anesthetised us, the only time that happened, and we woke up with identical scars and no idea what happened."

Shocked, horrified, Steve recoiled, desperately trying not to cry. "Oh, Buck..."

"Stop calling me that! Stop, just stop, stop pretending that you know me, or that you care, because you dont! Please..." Bucky broke down, sobs wracking at his bony shoulders.

"Okay, okay, shh, shh, I'm going, don't-"

"Wait." Bucky's skinny fingers wrapped around Steve's wrist. "I didn't mean it like- What I mean is- Prove it. That I know you. I can believe it. Just prove it."

"Okay." Nodding, Steve pulled up a chair to the side of the bed. He sat down, staring knowingly into Bucky's deep blue eyes. "In that case, I think it's time for a story."


	6. Chapter Five

Natasha wrapped her fingers around the warm paper cup as she stared in the direction of the entrance. The warm buzz of energetic conversations and the sweet scent of coffee and chocolate filled the air. She sat in a small cafe across the street from the hospital, waiting.

She didn't understand what it was she could have done now, to anger her teammate. She was only being friendly, trying to help. Surely Steve would have to understand...

They both had a different past with Bucky. The other two had been childhood friends, true. There had to be a level of protective instinct still existent. But when it came to Bucky and Natasha, there were no emotions. The only extent of their past had been his harsh training, her obsessive attempts to be the perfect student, to be his favorite. Then, in her later teenage years, their forbidden, illicit sexual affairs. What they had done, the secrets she still kept, their double surgery... No. No, she couldn't focus on that, not now. Not ever. What's done is done. In an attempt to slow her pounding heart, she took a shaky sip of her ginger tea. A spicy, warm burn flooded her throat. And she waited...

"Natasha, hey!" A familiar, deep voice came from behind.

"Sam!" She lept up, and quickly became embraced in his strong hug.

"How are you?" he asked quickly. "How's Steve doing?"

"We're good." She smiled warmly as they sat down across from each other. "He's still in for observation, most likely getting discharged later this afternoon. Although he probably could've gotten out sooner if he weren't a horrible patient."

"That's usually how it goes," Sam laughs. "Sorry I couldn't have been there. Emergency at work, you know how it is."

"Right." She nodded, choosing words carefully. "You know, an emergency is kinda why I wanted to talk to you today."

"All part of the job description," Sam grinned. "What can I do for you, we just saved D.C. Is it too much to ask that it stays safe for more than 48 hours? Y'all already had all the fun in New York. Ooh, how about-"

"Winter is back." She cut him off sternly, causing his carefree smile to melt away. "And Steve is making it his personal mission to become best friends again, or something. Which, don't get me wrong, I'm all for it. But let's at least get him back to normal, you know?

Sam nodded. "So you want me to, what, be the shrink?"

"Well... Yes. More of running interference, really. Convincing him that I'm right. He'll listen to you. I'll fill you in, whatever you need to know."

"Shrink to Captain America." Sam nodded. "I like it. Let's go."

...

"Okay, I'm going to touch you now," Steve warned, crossing over to the right side of the bed. "You'll see why, and I promise, it isn't going to hurt you."

Bucky bit nervously at his lips, analyzing Steve's face. "Come on, I promise. Don't you trust me?"

"What are you going to do? Not another test?"

"No, no, not at all." Steve smiled. "I know that you have a small scar right under your knee that I want to show you. We were kids, I was twelve, you just turned thirteen. And it was the middle of November. We lived in Brooklyn, in New York. Have you been there recently? Do you remember it at all?"

He had been everywhere these past several decades. Locations of missions were memories that had been fairly preserved, but only what he had done there, not any information about the place itself. This city in particular was fuzzy, though. But the state sounded familiar. Of course, the Stark mission of 1991, Long Island. "Um, I think so.. Does it matter?"

"No, we can work on that later. Back to the story?" Bucky nodded. "Right. So, it was November, and it was freezing, as always in New York that time of the year. The cold was pretty dangerous for someone like me, it messed up my lungs a lot. So anyway, I came down with some funky bug. Bronchitis, maybe? Something like that. It happened so often, it kind of blurs together now. Um, anyway, we lived in this apartment building since we were babies. Your family was right above mine, which is how we met. You were really close to my mom, before she got sick- that's another story. When I would miss school, she always let you over, help me catch up, whatever needed to be done. Anyway, this one night, my fever spiked. You had been over earlier that day, but my mother insisted that you get home before dark. Now, you may remember this." Steve grinned, wistfully remembering the good old days of Bucky's youth, before the years had broken him down, wearing the familiar personality away. "You snuck out that night. Fire escape. Whacked your leg pretty badly on my window ledge. Mom let you in, cleaned you up, never asked you to leave again. Does that bring anything back?"

"Her name was-" Bucky frowned. He remembered a few details, but not enough to piece together a whole person. And who knows how much of it was even right? "Sadie?"

"Sarah," Steve corrected gently. "Sarah Miriam Rogers. Anything else?"

"Her hair was red," Bucky recited slowly, in monotone. The way that a timid child who feared being wrong spoke to a strict schoolteacher. "But not like Natasha's. Lighter. And curly. And she kinda smelled like lavender. Is that right?"

A lump had been forming in the back of Steve's throat. He hadn't let himself think this much of his mother since her funeral. That day was one memory he hoped Bucky would never regain. "Yeah," he whispered around the threatening tears. "All that and more..."

"Good." Bucky yawned as he nestled deeper into the pillow. "Can I sleep now? I'm exhausted."

"Yeah, of course. That must have taken a lot to remember that much so soon. Thank you. I'll wake you when the doctor gets back?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

When the door swung open next, it was not the doctor. Even scarier, it was Natasha, flushed, hands on hips, and with Sam, serious-looking, for once- in tow. "Steve, we need to talk."

A/N- Thanks for reading! Just a few end notes. First, you may have noticed another account on AO3 with this story posted. Do not be aware, they are both my accounts, I have a lot of things I like and dislike about each website, and I like seeing the different reactions between the two. Second, I used to do some contests with my readers in other fandoms, and they were a lot of fun. Sooo, my challenge to you is, comment on any chapter (or a few, to increase your chances, here or AO3) and next Friday (midnight eastern standard time, January 3rd) I'm going to PM up to three random reviewers to select upcoming plot points. Think of it as a focus group. Good luck!


	7. Chapter Six

Chapter 6

"How about you step outside with us for a moment, have a little chat about this new friend?" Hands perched comfortably on her hips, Natasha did not give off the air of someone whose authority you could question.

Towering over her from behind, Sam nodded. "We have some psychobabble you may be interested in. And it's not really anything you'd want anyone to overhear."

"Nat, what is this for?" Steve sighed, exasperated. "I don't need a therapist."

"But you also don't have to be one," Sam insisted. It was obvious that he was concerned. "So just come on outside, just a minute."

"I can stay here, and I'll get you if anything changes," Natasha offered. Her lips were pursed with worry. She had found a soft cloth next to the sink the doctors had been using. "He's got a slight fever," she explained, wetting it slightly before gently bathing Bucky's face. "Cryo weakens the immune system. It's probably nothing to worry about, but we should still try to knock out whatever bug or whatever it is. So let him rest now."

Carefully, Steve watched her. She was too well-practiced, the gentle motions and wide, owlish eyes seemed second-nature. But Natasha was an assassin, not a healer. "There is a lot I don't understand about you, Nat."

"Yeah, whatever." She smirked. "Just go, start understanding yourself at least."

Nodding, Steve followed Sam out of the door. They wandered down to the lobby, a sort of understanding in their silence.

"I'm worried about you," Sam said, finally breaking the awkward quiet. "This can't be easy. You want to talk about that?"

"Not particularly...m It's just weird, you know? Seeing him change like this, I mean.'

Sam nodded. His face, always in a warm, welcome smile, morphed into a quiet, demure mask of professionalism. "That's the thing, when they're dead, when they're really gone, you can overlook the bad stuff. You only have to think of what you want to remember, what would keep them up on that shiny pedestal. it's hard, I get it. You don't have to just take it. That's what Natasha and I

are here for, okay?"

Steve nodded. "Thank you, Sam."

"No problem, all a part of the job description." Sam nodded, showing a slight smile. "Natasha wanted me to talk to you about maybe taking a step back from bringing back from bringing back the past so soon. Have you ever heard of the hierarchy of need? It's this theory, ranking what people need to, well, be people, I guess, is how I'd put it."

"It sounds familiar. What's it say?"

"It's a triangular shape. The base is physiological needs, basic things we need for physical health. You know where they put self-actualization, like being able to accept facts and memories?"

Steve shook his head. "Right after?"

"Nope. Last. After four other major topics are taken care of."

"Well, then, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that Natasha's right. Take care of his medical needs, give him the space to rest and heal. Make sure you do that for yourself, too. I know you've got that whole super-fast healing, body of a superhero thing going on, but still. You've gotta take it easy, rest up. You need anything, let me know."

"Thank you. For everything. But I think I'd like to go check on Bucky now."

"I can understand that." Sam nodded. "Go on up. I'll meet you there."

Steve wandered upstairs, trying to absorb exactly what Sam was trying to say. It was confusing, to say the least, the suggestion to more or less just let Bucky fend for himself, to try and sort out this new world. It just seemed too cruel. His feet pounded the steps two at a time, desperate to get back as soon as possible, to make sure that everything would be okay.

A series of strange noises, loud and desperate, was obvious from the end of the hall. The closer Steve ran to the room, the clearer and more terrifying the sounds became. Strangled cries, something that sounded like dry wretching, Natasha's voice pleading in a language he could not understand...

"What happened?" he shouted, forcing the door open with sudden impact. "What's wrong?"

"Just a nightmare, that's all." It wasn't clear which of the two Natasha was speaking to. She knelt protectively by the side of the bed, holding out a shallow plastic container that Bucky was occasionally leaning into. As far as Steve could tell, he had already been vomiting a significant amount of water. "I tried to get him to drink something after. It didn't go so well."

Steve nodded, feeling suddenly helpless. "I'm going to go get help."

A bony, shaking hand ensnared his wrist. "Don't go," Bucky begged, voice desperate and soft. "Don't leave me again."

"Uh, of course. Okay, I can switch places with Natasha then? Would that be okay?" Without waiting for an answer, Natasha darted out of the room. Her jaw was set angrily, as if this sudden turn was something she recognized, something that brought back an old trauma.

"I don't want-" Crying out suddenly, Bucky grasped for the container. Steve held it out just in time to collect the fluid. He tried not to show the panic at the sudden realization that what was clear and watery was now stained with pink. The bout of vomiting was longer than the last several. When it was over, Bucky sank back against the pillows, eyes fluttering shut painfully. Involuntarily whimpering, the fingers on his natural, heavily scarred hand, rubbed desperately against his temple. It was then that Steve noticed that, maybe purposefully, Bucky had been hiding the prosthetic underneath the blankets. Now, as he squirmed with obvious pain, the top of the silvery shoulder had become exposed. Without meaning to, Steve smiled, noticing where it looked like Bucky was attempting to scratch off the bright red star. "I don't want any more doctors."

"And I understand that. But you're hurt, you're sick, and it looks like you may be bleeding now. So we need to get you some help."

"Uh huh..." His eyes were open now, blank, rimmed with dark, bruise like circles. Like that morning, he stared up at the ceiling, not moving, not reacting to anything Steve had to say. Instead, his only reaction was in disjointed,nonsensical mumbles. "Vertical incision, left upper quadrant. Open bleed. Splenectomy."

"What?" Steve leaned forward. "What's that?"

"Please, please, stop!" Breathing raggedly, Bucky turned away, curled firmly against the edge of the bed. The prosthetic fingers spasmed, gripping onto Steve's hand with a dangerous intensity. "Make it stop," he begged, staring desperately into Steve's eyes.

"Okay, okay, just hang on, just-"

The door flew open. Natasha and the following nurse stared at the unfolding scene before rushing in to each side of the bed.

"Natasha..." Steve gulped back tears. "Natasha, I think he remembers the operation. The one they did yesterday."

"That- that can't be. With the amount of drugs they would have had pumped in, anyway. Right?"

The nurse frowned, starting a quick examination on the thrashing patient. "There's a possibility, but it's rare. Extremely rare. Hold on."

The three were left alone for a moment, only to hear a shout into the hallway. "Someone call psych!"


	8. Chapter Seven

"It's called intraoperative awareness," the psychologist explained after examination. The doctor was an older man, with graying black hair and gentle, self-assured mannerisms that added up to painfully remind Steve of Dr. Erskine. The only difference was the psychologist's deep brown eyes and different accent, one Steve couldn't quite place. He made a mental note to ask Natasha later.

"It is quite a rare phenomenon," the doctor continued. "It occurs when parts of the brain somehow manage to remain active while undergoing general anesthesia."

Steve nodded. His jaw clenched as he tried not to let emotion show. "So it wasn't just a nightmare? Something really happened."

"Something during the recent splenectomy, yes. It is more likely than not that he doesn't remember the entire operation. From here, it's just wait and see. Have me called, if it gets worse."

"I'll remember that. Thank you, doctor." Steve nodded gratefully. "But if you'll excuse me now, I have someone to check up on."

"Understood. Good luck, with your friend's recovery."

Nodding, Steve turned back into the room, followed by Sam, who had been standing by silently.

Back in the room, Natasha stood beside Bucky. His head was tilted back, with her fingers laced under his chin. The nurse from earlier was standing on Natasha's opposite side, performing some sort of bedside treatment that Steve could not recognize. His eyes were squeezed shut, though they slid open at the sound of Steve's approaching footsteps. Obviously, he was terrified.

"What are you doing?" Steve demanded of Natasha. "What are they doing now? Can't you see how scared he is?"

"Relax, he's fine now. Should've been here for the more hands-on part of the exam. That was fun."

"Natasha, this isn't a joke." Steve sighed. "Can you tell me why this is necessary?"

"Mr. Rogers, she's right. Calm down." As both young women stepped away, Steve caught sight of a narrow tube extending into Bucky's nose.

"Your friend here had a pretty severe bout of vomiting. We gave him some antiemetics- that's any sort of drug that causes reduces nausea- and increased the dose of the IV fluid drip. There was some blood in the samples we took, but we determined that it was just from a small cut in his mouth, nothing dangerous. However, Natasha here has given us reason to believe that, during the periods of captivity, he was fed exclusively through an IV. So the purpose of the nasogastric tube here is to acclimate the stomach slowly to liquids, and eventually to solids."

"So, long story short, everything is going to be okay," Natasha promised.

"Right. It may just take a little while. She nurse smiled gently, beginnings of smile lines starting to frame her tired hazel eyes. "Now, I'm sorry, but visiting hours did end well over an hour ago. Since this is a more sensitive case, I can give one of you overnight clearance."

"I'll do it," Sam and Steve offered at the same time.

"Come on, Sam, you've done way too much already," Steve insisted. "And you've got work in the morning."

"Let Sam do it, Steve," Natasha pressed. "I'm taking you back to your place. You need rest."

"I'm fine. Really, Nat-"

"I'm sorry, but have you seen yourself lately?" Natasha pursed her lips, fists pressed into both hips. It was true, in her defense. Steve had somehow managed to maintain a sickly pale tinge in the parts of his face that were still splotched with unhealing bruises.

"You're going home," Sam gently insisted. "I know you want to stay. I see this all the time with the new job. Go home, rest up, avoid caregiver burnout."

"But you're not-"

"Steve, come on." Natasha already had her car keys out. Her free hand rested gently against Bucky's cheek. She bent down to give him a soft kiss. "It's time to go."

"Okay, okay, fine." Normally, with anyone else, Steve would have argued and won. But with Sam and Nat working together, he knew the feat would be futile. "Can you just give us a minute first?"

Natasha glanced up at Sam, who nodded. "Okay, but just a minute. I'll go get the car. Come out when you're done."

"And I'll give you some privacy." Sam followed Natasha out.

"So, how are you feeling?" Steve asked awkwardly after a moment of quiet. "Any better? You had us pretty worried there."

Bucky shrugged, eyes blank again. "I'm okay. Tired."

"Yeah, I don't doubt that," Steve said gently, nodding. "Why don't you try and go back to sleep? Do you still feel sick? Are you in any pain?"

"Not- No, not really. Just feel weird. Dizzy. Is that normal?"

"I'm not a doctor," Steve reminded. "I'm your friend. Which means I can ask someone who knows, and tomorrow I can help you through it. But I have to go now. Sam is going to stay with you. You can ask him to call me, if you need to."

"Wait, just a moment." Steve had already been walking towards the door when Bucky called him back. "You're coming back, right?"

Steve nodded. "Get some rest. I'll be back before you know it."

"Bucky's eyes fluttered sleepily shut. "It's funny," he mused, barely awake any longer. "I trust you more than anyone else, but I don't even know your name."

"So, how'd that go?" Natasha finally broke the silence after several miles of driving in silence. "No murder attempts, no mental breakdowns?"

Steve shook his head, the exhaustion of the last few days finally catching up. "I think I may have made some progress, actually."

"Uh huh..." Natasha turned her eyes back to the road. "You know, that may be the serum. I hate to break it to you, but that's how it works. There are lucid periods, usually lasting a few hours, maybe up to a day or two. And then the regression comes back. That might be happening here."

"Or his body is detoxing from it. Right! That could-"

"-be possible, yes. But I don't think it's ever happened. I just don't know. Let's let the experts take care of this for now."

"The experts, right..." They pulled into the parking lot of Steve's apartment complex. "You and that doctor, you're up to something."

"Not at all." Natasha smiled. "She's up to something. Or at least she thinks she is. I'm just trying to get her firmly on our side. Wouldn't want someone able to recreate HYDRA serum questioning their loyalties, would we? We need her to be firmly on our side, also known as my side. Gotta learn to play to your strengths, Rogers. It works."

"I am, Nat. And I think it's going to work. He's going to remember me. It'll work. You'll see."

"Good luck with that," Natasha said with a smirk and a dry, humorless laugh. "I know Barnes, more recently than you. So trust me when I say it'll get bad again. Only a matter of time."

A young Natasha laid out on a cold examination table, pale, stripped naked, and shivering. Surgical lights gleamed above her, and the IV in her wrist ached everytime she fought against the restraints. She had been in this position before, of course.

Every young trainee had been subjected to at least a few experiments. Her first had been muscle growth stimulating injections when she was six, then replacements of major blood vessels when she was nine. Tissue samples for research were commonplace, with every child in the training complex expected to give at least blood and bone marrow to the scientists regularly, but the samples taken from her were startlingly more invasive and frequent. When she was thirteen, it was a shred of muscle tone from her back to study what made her and several other top athletes in the program have their increase of flexibility and strength. Her muscle cells were analyzed, and when nothing abnormal was found, they simply repeated the procedure twice more. It wasn't until after the operations that she was informed of their purpose. There had been a rumor in the girls dormatories that they were now after ovaries, to study how serums such as the aforementioned muscle stimulant would pass down genetically.

"One last chance, Natalia." The program director's warped voice cut through the intercom in the operating theatre. "One last chance to tell the truth, and maybe we will be easier on you. We know the answer, of course. What we do not know is, do you know better than to lie to us. Whose offspring have you been concealing?"

Offspring. The word resonated in her mind. She didn't understand, but at the same time, it explained so much... But she shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't-"

"Liar." The director snarled, his smirk almost audible through the speaker. "You're always sneaking around with that worthless trainer of yours. You think it's a secret, but we know, we know all. that being said, if you have no motivation to help yourself..."

There was a dramatic pause. A curtain against the wall pulled back to reveal a glass divider between the two conjoined operating rooms. Her trainer- the one without a name, a harsh yet effective teaching style, massive and expressive ice-colored eyes, and a strange ability to make Nat feel protected, almost cared for- was spread out on a table identical to her own. A tray filled with more scalpels and surgical tools than either of them had seen in one place was at standby. Doctors flooded into both of their rooms, at the same moment that the anesthetic poured into both of their IV's. The last thing she saw was a flash of fear in her mentor's eyes as he fought out against the restraints just long enough to press his prosthetic hand against the glass, as if trying to touch her face, before he quickly went limp, unconscious, Natasha not far behind.

"Then maybe you can do it for him."


	9. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

'Got a call around seven. Not sure what' strong. Didn't want to wake you, you needed sleep. Not grounds for argument. See you there, I guess?

-N

P.S.- Eat something!'

"Okay, what the hell happened?" Steve burst into the room, eyes scanning rapidly, searching for any sigh of chaos. There was none. Anticipating the reaction, expecting the panicked outburst, Natasha looked up from where she was curled up and scrolling through a touch screen.

"Relax, it was no big deal. All under control now." She signed, gestured over to where Bucky laid at the very edge of the bed, cocooned in a bundle of blankets and tangling tubes. "He's been awake for a while. I told him to sleep, but anyway-"

"Something happened. Didn't it?

Natasha sighed. "I don't know much more than you do. Or anyone, for that matter. It looks like he had a seizure, but no one has any idea why. But he's stable for now, and comfortable, as far as we can tell. But if you can convince him to talk, that would be great."

Steve nodded shyly. He had a list of stories to tell, just pointless little recollections, obscure details from their childhood. But right now, they just weren't coming. Instead, he turned to Natasha. "How was it with Clint?"

All color drained from Natasha's face. She glared at Steve, eyes icy, dangerous. "Don't. Don't you dare. It's not the same," she insisted.

"How? How is it different? Someone you care about, taking away from themself, forced to become someone else's prop. This time it just lasted longer. It has to be reversible."

"It really isn't the same." Natasha signed. She knew that her circumstance wasn't the same, but she felt like she had lost her friend, too. After all, the change was gradual to her. She watched Bucky change. She stepped nearer, hand reaching out to comb her fingers through his long, tangled hair. "That was magic. It was random. This is science, and probably designed exactly for his brain. It-"

"But what was it like?" Steve repeated. "I don't care about the science. What was it like?"

"You really want to know, huh?" Natasha laughed bitterly. "Okay. Fine. It was awful. Still is. Do you have any idea of the guilt someone like that has got to live with? And the nightmares, the flashbacks, knowing what you did to your allies? He isn't back, not really. He will never be back, and that's all just after a few days. Imagine what seventy years would do to someone.

Together, they stared down into Bucky's eyes. They had gone blank again, devoid of any hint of emotion. They wouldn't connect with anyone else's, but he stared, fixated, on one spot, almost as if locking eyes with someone that wasn't there.

"I'm so sorry," Steve muttered, somehow to both of them. "No one deserves to live like that."

"Yeah, well, we have an excuse, right?" Bucky's eyes were still making disconcerting focus on one spot. He still spoke to Steve and Natasha, but the intensity, the insistence, the expression, was not one he'd use in speaking to them. But it was his words that were most concerning. Steve's stomach dropped. Natasha was already in a fragile state, what with the personal questions only moments ago. To have the past thrown back at her again, and now-

"What did you just say?" Natasha whispered harshly. Her jaw tensed, vein across her forehead pulsing dangerously. "Are you implying that-"

"I know your capabilities, Natalia," Bucky said in an equally low voice, the one he used to reserve specifically for difficult training sessions. "Rather, I know what you are willing to do, in your own frame of mind. How many people have died at your hand? And you knew exactly what it was that you were up to. Isn't that right?"

"Shut up!"

"Hey, don't." Steve tried to intervene, but the other two quickly started up a shouting match that he could not interpret.

"Did you ever expect to get away with it? There is blood all over your hands."

"And who do you think pushed me to that point? Do you think I would have done that on my own? I had to have learn somewhere, from someone. Someone willing to-"

"And how do you magage your guilt?" A tiny, twitching smile pulled experimentally at the corners of Bucky's mouth. "You justify everything. Surely you don't believe that you are the innocent one here."

"Shut up! Just shut up! You don't know-"

"But you did. You knew, oh you knew. You killed, even indirectly. That plane crash, the one you hacked the system to create, you caused it just to cover your tracks, but do you know how many innocent people were on board? Children even, and you did it without thinking. And there is more, so much more that you don't even know where to start to apologize."

"Fucking hypocrite!" Natasha's fingernails dug into Bucky's throat as she sprang up onto the bed to pin him down.

"Natasha, Natasha, stop!" Steve rushed over, wanting to pull her off but not sure how the best way to go about it would be. "I don't know what's going on exactly, but maybe we can just talk it out, calmly..."

"I have had it with you!" Natasha continued to shriek. Changing languages quickly, she turned to Steve. "Don't you see, he's manipulating you? We were trained up to do exactly that, he knows the method, and it's working! You can't believe another word he says, you can't go along with the innocent victim act, it's a trap!"

Desperately, Bucky shook his head, the thick curtain of messy hair tangling everywhere, framing his suddenly terrified features. "That's not true! Please don't believe her, please..." His voice was strained with emotion, almost in a childlike way, though there was no sign of tears. Steve felt firm pressure as Bucky's slender fingers grasped ships wrist. "Please, Stevie, don't leave me again!"

Both Natasha and Steve took a step back, shocked. What concerned Steve more wasn't the childhood nickname, but the steady return of the soft Brooklyn accent.

Wham! Natasha's fist connected expertly with Bucky's cheek. The bruise formed almost instantly, taking on the exact shape of her knuckles. Before anyone could react, she stormed out of the room.

The room was frozen. Steve stared out the door, shocked that she would take it this far. Bucky's eyes became vacant, glued onto the celing. A strange notice bubbled up in the back of his throat. Laughter. Insane, disjointed, manic laughter.

"She's not wrong, that's the thing. And you, you fall for it! It's just that, they trained me for you. You were supposed to be smarter than- you were supposed to be-"

"Dead?" Steve signed, knowing that this must be what Natasha was talking about the other day. The lucid period was over. And as quickly as he had returned, Bucky was gone. "So were you?

"And you would have preferred that, wouldn't you? That's okay. Makes two of us."

Steve thought back to what Natasha said earlier, about Clint. Truth was, that would be Bucky's easiest option. Perhaps it was selfish to want to keep Bucky alive. "What do you want from me?"

"Isn't it obvious?" The laughter started again, desperate, shrill. "Honestly, you call yourself my friend... I want you-" A crazed grin crossed over Bucky's face. "-to kill me."


End file.
